Monday, October 27, 2014

Stifling Abstractions

Oh, it has been a
while. A long, long while indeed.

So long, that I can
all but rant, unencumbered and unthinking for once, driven merely by this sense
of…frustration, I suppose? This inexplicable yearning that gnaws at me,
suffocating me, making me want to run.

Run and run, and not
look back. Run to the very edge of the abyss and jump into oblivion.

But I can’t…I won’t.
I’m here out of my own volition. I made
the choice, didn’t I? Everything is nothing but my creation – the world my
mirror, a painful reflection of my helpless beliefs.

Nevertheless, shadows
shall follow me to the death. I cannot obliterate light; neither can I wipe away
the scars of my faults from my very being, not till I give up on pulling the
scabs off time and again.

Then again, patience
has never been my virtue.

…

“I can’t write.”

It was a mere statement, made quietly but unequivocally. He
looked in her direction. As always, she didn’t look up, choosing to stare away
at the sight before as she sat near the window, curling up in a manner that
struck him as deliberately despondent.

He shook his head. “Of course not. You mean you can’t write
prose,” earning him a glare from her.

“Yes, unlike for some lesser mortals, journal entries and
random scribblings do not suffice for writing,
you see.”

“Now that’s more like it. Why don’t you pen that down as a
line to start with?”

The intensity of her glare only grew. “Stop being a
wisecrack for once, will you?”

He raised his hands in a giving-up gesture. “I’m saying
nothing.”

She sighed, frustration evidently wrought in her features.
“I want to write, you know? And yes, for all my eloquence, for all the words I
know, this is the best I can do.” And the voice was quiet and matter-of-fact in
its tone yet again.

He almost smiled. I
know you’re not looking to be empathized with.

“Say if I ask you to
write a letter to me.”

“…I won’t be able to write one. It’d be half-hearted at
best.”

“And why do you say so?”

“I can’t find my expression.”

“Writing is not something that can be unlearned, is it?”

“I can’t seem to remember it.”

“If you look for something that is not there anymore…but has
taken on a different form, you won’t find it either way.”

She threw him a leveled yet wary look. He held her gaze.
“Tell me if I’m wrong. Tell me if it is something as simple as longing for what
you knew…”

“…or what had been hidden for so long.”

And just as abruptly, she walked out of the room.

He waited, knowing it wouldn’t be long till she internalized what she had otherwise been unwilling to face. You can’t expect something to come your way
if you keep running away from it, can you?